Her parents were profoundly ignorant of everything outside their own home-circle, and considered they had carried out their duty to the full by confiding the education of their only child after she left the convent to the tender mercies of the parish priest. This worthy gentleman had a sort of moral Index Purgatorius by which he regulated the conduct and instruction of all the children committed to his care, and, like Pope Paul IV., he not only forbade any thought or action which was forbidden in his index, but even prohibited everything that was not entered there-in as permissible. The result of this training was that Madame Villebois up to the end of her days considered everything absolutely wicked which had not been expressly sanctioned by her ghostly confessor. Still, with all her short-comings, she had a fair share of every-day common-sense, and her knowledge of dress and of cookery went a long way to make up for her dearth of mental qualifications. Dinner at the house of the Villebois was always a function of vast importance in the eyes of madame. The cuisine and wines were certainly above criticism, consequently an invitation to dine "chez les Villebois" was greatly prized by their large circle of friends, and the well-known bonhommie of the good-natured doctor made him an ideal host. As for madame herself, that worthy dame was absolutely certain that her husband's extensive practice was entirely due to her own smart attire and her unflagging devotion to the culinary art, and from early morn till the afternoon, madame spent the most of her time between bargaining with the tradesmen over the details of purchases for the larder, and superintending the important culinary operations in the kitchen itself. "A good cook," she used to say, "makes a good wife," and she was firmly convinced that the seat of her husband's affections was located somewhere in that portly and rotund region of his anatomy which was discreetly covered by the lower part of his waistcoat. "Man is merely a civilised animal," she would remark to certain of her intimate female friends, "and if you feed the creature well, you can do almost anything with him." As the guests took their places at the table, the sharp eyes of the hostess noticed a vacant seat-- "François," she asked, turning to the butler standing behind her, "who was that chair placed for?" "Monsieur Pierre Duval, madame." "Compose yourself, ma mie," said Villebois, "our learned friend left a note of apology stating that he had to return to his office, but that we might possibly see him later." Doctor Riche gave an almost imperceptible glance at Céleste, who at once caught his eye and nodded significantly. "If Pierre only knew what he is missing," said Riche, tasting the turtle soup, "no amount of business would prevent him from being at this dinner, eh, Marcel?" "Oh, don't interrupt me, I beg of you, doctor, I have just swallowed a lovely piece of fat without tasting its flavour."